Dear Marion,

Only two hours and forty-five minutes are left to send you
a properly dated happy birthday greeting. The days since
I drove you to the airport have been hectic. On Tuesday
afternoon the intitial rehearsal of Nathaniel symphony
orchestra, about which I reported to you. On Wednesday,
I got up at 3:45 a.m. to take Klemens to Logan for a six
o'clock departure. He spent the day in Chicago and returned
at ten thirty p.m. Yesterday, Thursday, Nathaniel's second
rehearsal was even more polished than the first. This
morning I again drove Klemens to the airport. This time he
is going to Washington. He is scheduled to return to
Boston on Sunday at 11:48 a.m., in time, he hopes, to 
attend the second of Nathaniel's two concerts.

I had inquired of Rebekah, who is a member of the orchestra,
whether she considered it unduly intrusive if I asked
Nathaniel for permission to move a chair to the perimeter
of the orchestra where I might be able to observe his
conducting from the same perspective as the musicians.
Nathaniel, very sure of himself, said he did not mind at
all. I carried one of the many chairs in the dining hall
auditorium to the rear of the orchestra. For the Beethoven
symphony I sat diagonally behind one of the oboists.
During the Mozart symphony I sat next to Leah and her
French horn. She cautioned me: Be careful, you're right 
in the line of fire.

What I saw and heard was Nathaniel entranced and overcome.
Whenever he lifted his baton, the music took possession of
him and forced him to dance to its rhythm and its spirit.
The sound had become incarnate in him and he availed himself
of the most forceful and expressive body language conceivable
to share his experience with the orchestra. The chords, the
melodies, the cadences which rang through the hall were
acoustic amplifications of his spirit. Never have I heard the
Kierkegaardian motto: subjectivity is the truth, more
impressively corroborated.  The result: a performance to my
ears of professional quality; an interpretation, especially
of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony, that compares favorably with
any I can remember hearing. Throughout the performance,
whenever he relaxed from the rigors of controlling the fifty
or so players surrounding his podium, Nathaniel's face
blossomed into a beatific smile, not at all by design
or calculation, but the irrepressible expression of the
happiness engendered by the music.

Nathaniel is pushing his players to the limit. Today, toward
the end of 4 hours of rehearsal, with only a twenty minute
break, some of them started peeling off. I was reminded of
Haydn's Farewell Symphony written to give the musicians
the opportunity to protest their long hours, by ending their
parts one by one and instructing them to walk off the stage.
Tomorrow is the first of the two scheduled concerts. It is
to begin at 2 p.m., but Nathaniel has told his players to
arrive at 11 a.m. for a preliminary rehearsal. I hope all
of them show up.

That Nathaniel has accomplished so much at an early age -
he will be twenty years old in October, ought not be 
extrapolated into a prediction that he will become prominent
or "successful." The future course of his life depends not
only on him, and at this stage, probably less on him than
on the society that must accept and promote him. To what
extent it will do so, remains to be seen.

Nathaniel's determination has not helped Rebekah's mood which
is tinged with jealousy of her flamboyant and much admired brother.
She has finally accepted my invitation to work in one of the rooms
of our addition, and the room she has chosen is the one on the
third floor, opposite to where I have my computers. We returned
from the rehearsal at 4:30, and I have spent much of the time
since then, removing the boxes of documents and office supplies
that I had kept there. Just where I will store them now 
remains as yet a mystery. However, tomorrow is another day,
and just maybe, one in which I will write you a more colorful
and imaginative letter.

Happy birthday.

Jochen